


A Distance Apart

by KrisseyCrystal (IceCreAMS)



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Catra (She-Ra) Needs a Hug, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, LITERALLY, Post-Canon, Touch-Starved, set during that Best Friend Squad Road Trip post-series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:16:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25997365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceCreAMS/pseuds/KrisseyCrystal
Summary: Catra is very bad at asking for things.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 283





	A Distance Apart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kokoai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kokoai/gifts).



“Catra?”

“Hm?”

“You’re staring.”

The _‘again’_ hangs somewhere in the detestable gap of space between them. Catra’s mouth twists the same instant her face flushes. She crouches over the arm of the pilot’s chair and digs her nails in, scraping against the metal—something Bow will no-doubt wail over later—and narrows her eyes at the blonde in the seat, who has been going over the newly arrived reports from scouts across the galaxy since eight o’clock this morning.

Somehow, those boring things can catch and hold Adora’s short attention span.

Somehow—Catra thinks with a flick of her tail—they are important enough to have dragged Adora away from the warm nest of their shared bunk.

And since then, they haven’t held hands or brushed shoulders, which means they haven’t touched since _eight o’clock_ and that’s _seriously wrong_ and Catra’s own skin itches like her fur is about to singe off of her. 

“So what?” Catra challenges in a huff. _We’re dating now, aren’t we? Can’t I stare at my girlfriend all I like?_

Adora raises one eyebrow and finally—finally—looks at her. Soon, both of her eyebrows lift. She blinks and the adorable, familiar cluelessness in her face that Catra so often loves to tease makes damn hiccups bubble up Catra’s throat. 

She doesn’t know what that look does to her, does she? 

Catra scowls further.

Cutely—predictably—Adora’s nose scrunches up as she laughs. Her shoulders bunch and bounce. “Wow,” she teases, voice dripping. “I mean, I like to think that I’m pretty, but I didn’t know I was _that_ pretty.”

“I—” Catra’s face floods with pink. Did Adora miss the point? She’s missing the point.

“You’re telling _me,”_ Adora drags out the last word and points her fingers towards her chest. Her elbow leaning over the armrest is too close and at the same time too far away from Catra’s fingertips. Damn. “That you have nothing better to do with your morning than just stare at me for hours on end?” 

“Wow. I regret everything. You have the _biggest_ ego.”

“You like it.”

Catra huffs. Her eyes dart up a second before her hand does and she enjoys all-too-well the squawk of surprise she gets out of Adora the instant her claws dig into the signature, golden floof above her brow. She stands up and rounds the pilot’s chair, letting her tail curl around the top corner of the back of it before she leaves. 

“Well, whatever. Because _someone’s_ busy working, guess that means it’s up to _me_ to get us lunch. C’mon, Melog.”

From their spot lounging in a long, lazy line against the back wall, Melog rises to their feet and stretches. After mewling a curious sound, they pad quickly over to follow Catra beyond the sliding door and out of the cockpit. 

“Great! Kay! Thanks, Babe!” Adora’s voice calls after them, audibly grinning ear-to-ear.

_Babe._

How insufferable.

She has no clue at all.

* * *

It is six o’clock in the afternoon and they have just finished their meeting over dinner with Glimmer and Bow about the next stop on the collective Best Friend Squad’s itinerary, and Catra feels like she’s on _fire_ because she and Adora _still haven’t touched all day._ Not even the tiniest of grazes. No crossing hands. No bumps. No brushing fingers even when Adora handed her the glowing starmap tablet when they sat side-by-side at the table. Nothing.

Catra is going to lose her _mind._

“Catra? You okay?”

It’s their turn for the after-dinner clean-up and Catra sulks against the cupboards behind her, arms crossed over her chest with one dish towel in a tightly fisted hand, wondering why the space between them as Adora has both arms elbow-deep in sudsy water feels like it’s a chasm wide.

“Fine,” she grumbles.

Maybe she assumed too much, she admits. Her tail curls around her ankle. They’ve only recently confessed their mutual love and even _that_ was in the heat of a do-or-die-moment with the fate of all known life at stake and it’s not that Catra would take any of it back—she had meant _every single word_ of “I love you” and “You’re such an idiot” and every piece of herself she pressed into that kiss and still does—but in this naissance of their relationship, maybe she just…assumed…certain things about how they would be and act around each other in the aftermath, now. 

When they were children, Adora wasn’t afraid to touch her. Hug her. Roughhouse with her. Now that they’re together and older and they’ve fought against each other and crashed together again, their relationship is different. Many other things are different, too. The _things_ that Catra wants are different, so maybe…she assumed…the things Adora would be different, too. 

Yes, Adora loves her. But maybe she doesn’t value touch and physical intimacy in quite the same— 

Adora finishes wiping the last of the plates and holds it out. Catra takes it and her nails clink against its flexiplast surface. One swipe of the towel, then two, and the plate is dry. She sets it on the rack.

Adora turns off the faucet. She turns to Catra and when she takes the proffered towel, her fingers don’t graze Catra’s arm.

“Now,” Adora hums. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“What? Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Liar.” Adora’s smile turns soft and small. Fond. 

Catra’s insides melt into an oopy, gooey mess. She turns to put her hip against the countertop and grabs at her wrist with one hand, eyes averted. “You’re the only one who’s allowed to call me out on that, you know.”

“I’ll take that like a badge of pride, thanks.” Adora’s grin widens, all teeth. She plops the towel onto the counter next to the sink and props her hands on her hips. Half-dried, they leave twin wet spots on either side of her. Catra’s eyes linger. She doesn’t know if she can meet those bright blue eyes. “Now, again I ask: what’s up?”

“I—” Catra’s eyes fall to Adora’s neck instead. Mistake number one.

Because there it is, the space there. It’s right in front of her.

And Adora’s practically asking. No, scratch that. She _is_ asking. She’s expectant, blue eyes open and waiting for Catra to give her an honest answer, but she can’t. And it’s all so _dumb_ , isn’t it? To be so needy and so piney, when Adora hasn’t given any indication at all that she herself is interested in physical contact. Maybe Adora doesn’t need physical affirmations as much as she needs to breathe. She’s not Catra. She’s never been Catra. She’s always been _better._

But—

Catra catches herself leaning forward. 

Sharply, she stops, with one hand braced against the countertop at her hip. 

Her breath stops in her throat. “Never mind.” She lowers her eyes, finds the grout between the tiles, maps it with her mismatching eyes. “It wasn’t important.” She turns— 

—a warm hand wraps around her wrist.

It turns her around.

Meekly, limply, as if all her strings have been cut, Catra lets herself be pulled in and enveloped by two strong arms, tucked into _that space_ —that hidden, secret, coveted space—of Adora’s neck. It’s embarrassing, the soft sighing sound that escapes Catra. Finally, she’s _here_. Finally, she’s pressed against Adora. Finally, she’s held. 

Finally, she’s safe. 

Huh. 

_That’s a new thought._

Catra wraps her arms around Adora’s middle and digs her fingers into the back of her red jacket. Catra breathes in and in and in. Adora has always had a strange ambivalent smell to her, not unlike a sponge in the way she adapts the scent of wherever she’s been and whatever she’s been doing and it always tells a story. Somehow, thankfully, the green apple dish soap that lingers over her shoulders isn’t so bad to take in a faceful of. 

“Silly,” Adora softly chides into her ear. “If you wanted a hug, you could’ve just asked.”

Catra stifles a sigh. Her tail wraps around Adora’s leg. “No.” Because it’s not and probably never will be about just a single hug.

As if reading her mind, Adora’s fingers find their way to the back of Catra’s hair. With slow, easy movements, she combs through the shortened black locks—over and over and over. Adora presses a kiss to the side of Catra’s head; her fingers curl against the nape of her neck, and Catra is warm. Warm. Warm.

“Hey. Are you…purring?”

“Shh. Don’t ruin this for me.”

There’s a smile in Adora’s voice. It turns teasing. “Well. Maybe I should do this more often, then.”

“Maybe you should,” Catra huffs against her neck.

It’s so much better to listen to Adora’s familiar laughter when she can feel every happy bounce of her chest and shoulders pressed against her person. Much better, Catra decides, than being forced to watch it from a distance apart.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you, Koko!! <3 <3 they requested post-series Catradora fluff, and how could I resist? 
> 
> if you want to request your own fic, check out my pinned tweet!
> 
> [tw](https://twitter.com/kissykrissey) / [tblr](https://krisseycrystal.tumblr.com/)


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